Four Seconds to Lose

Because Sam wouldn’t bother trying to knock down Superman. He’d simply kill him.

“So?” Cain waits expectantly, though his tone has softened. “The job?”

“Can you afford me?”

“Oh?” He rolls on his elbows to face me, his smirk widening. “What’s the going rate again?”

“A thousand an hour is what some are willing to pay.”

“Right.” Cain starts to laugh. “You’re going to rob me blind, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Why else would I be here?”

Cain plants a kiss on each cheek, followed by one on my nose, and then he lays a deep one on my lips, pulling a moan out of my throat. “You’ll be well taken care of, I can promise you that.”

A twinge of guilt pricks at me. “How about we see how it goes. Temporary assignment, okay? We might not be able to stand each other after a week.”

Cain shakes his head. “Sure, Charlie. But somehow I’m highly doubting that. Come on.” I get a playful slap across the ass and I beam, silently commending myself for keeping that dark, broody Cain from shutting me out. “Let’s get you some clothes and then we can go out to eat.”

* * *

“Hey, Kyle!” The slightly awkward security guard offers me a crooked smile as I walk through the revolving door of the extended-stay motel, as I have every Monday morning for months now, a coffee in hand and a low-cut T-shirt on person.

“Hey, Charlie.” He watches me walk up, his eyes appraising me. “I didn’t think you were coming in.”

Deliveries arrive by nine a.m. and I’m always here at exactly nine fifteen. Glancing at my clock, I note that it’s almost ten thirty. It’s the first time I’ve ever been late.

I had to get away from Cain, something I haven’t done in days. He’s been within arm’s reach the entire time and I’ve loved every second of it. Most of the time, we’re either at Penny’s or at his place. I’ve even started using the gym in his building.

I couldn’t have him coming with me to pick up the latest burner phone, so I used the excuse that I needed clothes from my apartment. He told me to just pack my suitcase and bring everything over.

Cain was telling the truth. He doesn’t know how to date and he sure as hell doesn’t take things slow.

“I know. Traffic. Biscayne Boulevard is backed up with all the construction.”

“Huh . . . that might explain it. Maybe the delivery guy is stuck in it too, because there’s no package yet.”

My stomach clenches. He can’t be stuck in it because there isn’t any construction on Biscayne Boulevard right now, as shocking as that is.

So, why isn’t there a package for me?

Trying to appear calm, I let my eyes roam the lobby area, looking for something suspicious. Something dangerous.

Like Jimmy.

Or Sam. Would he break his rule and fly down here for me?

“Maybe. Oh well!” I give my best ditzy girl giggle as I hand him his coffee. What does this mean? I’m sure it means something. Do I still pitch my current burner phone? Do I call Sam? I haven’t spoken to him since confronting him about the real Charlie Rourke and I have no idea what he’s going to say.

Do I run as if the building is about to explode?

Suddenly I feel like an easy target, as if I’m standing in the middle of an open field with a slew of guns trained on me.

Kyle happily takes a sip of his coffee, oblivious to the danger and pretending not to be checking out my chest. I start babbling some nonsense about a party I didn’t go to on Saturday, pretending not to notice.

All I want to do right now is get out of here.

I don’t know that I can last the compulsory fifteen minutes. I don’t know that I can last five minutes. Luckily, I’m not forced to find out, because the trill sound of the burner phone in my pocket starts to ring.

“I’ve got to take this, Kyle. I’m so sorry,” I offer, abruptly turning and heading toward the revolving doors as I root through my purse. The second I step out onto the sidewalk, I’m scanning my surroundings, looking for some indication that I’m being followed. I see nothing. I’ve seen nothing for a week now and I’ve been watching closely for any signs of a tail.

On the fifth ring, I answer, clenching my muscles to avoid peeing my pants.

“Hello?”

“Hello, little mouse. How are things?” His greeting is much more pleasant than I had anticipated. It’s as though our last conversation never happened.

“Fine. Except the delivery didn’t arrive this morning.”

“Yes, I know. I meant to call you earlier about that. I’m sorry if that worried you.” This is odd. He’s acting so . . . considerate. I see flashes of gymnastics trials and school plays, of Sam standing with armloads of flowers, garnering attention from parents around as the doting stepfather. Of hoisting me up onto Black Jack’s saddle with a twinkle in his eye.

The warmth of those memories spreads through my chest, reminding me that there was a time when nothing tainted our relationship. When I thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet.

“There are some issues with competition and we need to lay low for a while. Jimmy will sort it out, but until then, you just enjoy yourself. I see you’ve put a good dent into the money I sent to you.”

“I bought a few new dresses,” I lie. I went back to the bank last week to drain my secret account and a chunk of the one Sam knows about, dumping it all into a safety deposit box that I can access at any time.

“Good. I’ll send you some more money to keep you busy. There won’t be any more deliveries of any kind for a while.”

There’s dead silence on the phone as he waits for my response.

“For how long?” I dare ask.

“Months. Or longer. I may need to find another way in. It’s getting risky.”

Another way in? What does that mean? Another way in that doesn’t involve me, perhaps?

No more burner phones, no more drug drops, no more deceiving Cain?

Could this really be happening? With my free hand, I pinch my forearm. I’m still here. My phone is still in my ear.

In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else at work. If it’s not this easy, if Sam is in fact reacting to his suspicions about me. Either way, it sounds like I won’t be doing a drop for a long time. Maybe ever again.

That life could truly be part of my past.

And then I could actually look at Cain as part of my future. I’ll have to tell him about this one day, of course. But, by then, maybe he’ll actually love me. Enough to be able to forgive me.

* * *

I don’t walk through Cain’s door.

I float. On a fluffy white cloud of shock and confusion and possibilities and hope that never existed before, I float through the condo, in search of a possible new future. I find it on the balcony, stretched out on a lounge chair with a book.

Cain looks up to see me standing over him. “Charlie?” He watches for a moment and then frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Pushing the book free from his grip, I force myself onto the chair to lie atop him, taking in his bewildered expression.

And the tears begin to fall.

Cain is beside himself, his body going rigid. “What’s wrong, Charlie?” His hands, his eyes, begin searching my limbs as if searching for a physical injury. And still I cry, only now my laughter begins to weave in, sending me into a borderline hysterical fit of sobs, as I choke back the tears enough to say, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Cain must think I’m insane.

Maybe I am.